Do you ever have the feeling you’re underwater? Tasks are piled upon tasks are piled upon tasks. Everything seems tangled.
You lift yourself halfway out . . .
and just when you think you’re breathing freely again
you find that you’ve sunk beneath the surface.
But look around. You’re in good company. There is a surprising clarity. Colors are enhanced. Sound carries further.
Light ripples and radiates with every subtle current. Perhaps you can follow in the flow.
And end up on shore.
Photos © Sondra Sula.
If you like these blogs, you’ll most likely enjoy my latest daily devotional book, Meditations on Mendocino by Sondra Sula. Available on Amazon in paperback or Kindle versions.
If you haven’t read Reflections on the Fox River and Beyond by Sondra Sula, another daily devotional, you may like that, as well.
The leaves continue to drift down. One lands next to a tiny curled millipede. Is it napping, taking a break or has it moved on to the next realm?
Another leaf falls next to a single lichen that is standing tall for its diminutive size. The cup on the lichen’s top seems ready to receive. I, likewise, have a predisposition for reception.
Has this emerald green leaf let go before its time? Unlikely. Every leaf in The Dance is perfectly orchestrated.
Some are ready when their edges turn brown and brittle.
Others are ready when they start to curl.
A few let go when they are missing a part of themselves.
Some leaves are preyed upon. They try to hold on to no avail. Is anyone to blame? The natural order of things persists. Each living thing must play its part in The Dance.
Even if a leaf bends over backwards to accept disease, it eventually succumbs. But it has fallen beautifully, gracefully.
The All-Seeing Eye is aware of each movement in The Dance—not a single flutter goes unnoticed.
The leaves are a reflection of us—of all that exists. Don’t we make an exquisite pattern?
Leaves are falling.
Singly.
Doubly.
In triplets.
Or myriads.
Each leaf dances as it falls. One curves and swirls.
Another sails and gently rocks, wafting down to rest upon the first surface it meets.
I watch a narrow leaf plummet like a diver. Instead of plunging stem first into the river below, it hits a wooden bridge and stops. Its respite is precarious—one gust of wind will send it off the edge.
A rust-colored leaf is bent in upon itself on one side causing it to twirl downwards like a screw. It lands on a wood railing whose knot looks like an eye. The leaf meets they eye’s inscrutable gaze. What transpires is a mystery.
The dancers congregate, communicate, disintegrate as they move to the next stage of their lives: duff, detritus, rich loam for the next generation.
Sondra Sula's Blog: The Nature of Spirituality 